Bad Boy 4

by Jamie Lake

  Bad Boy: Naughty at Night Book 4

  by Jamie Lake

  Note: This is Book #4 in the Naughty at Night Series. To read the first book, go here: http://bitly.com/JAMIELAKEBOOKS

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  CHAPTER 1

  “Well, can I ... can I see him?” Peter asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tried not to cry. Suddenly, his apartment felt more closed in than before. It felt suffocating, as though the walls were moving in on him. Peter felt like his skin was on too tight, and waves of hot and cold washed over him. His eyes stung with unshed tears and his throat tightened, forming a hard lump that was difficult to swallow around.

  Chip took a deep breath and patted a place on Peter’s couch, “Baby, sit down.” His voice was calm, soothing, and patient.

  “I don’t want to sit down!” Peter screamed at the top of his lungs. A rush of guilt washed over him for yelling at Chip, the one person who had been by his side more than anyone during all the chaos that had been his life.

  He immediately regretted snapping at Chip. He combed his hand through his hair as he paced back and forth, thinking, thinking, trying to think. So many thoughts were racing in from every direction, and he couldn’t concentrate. It made him feel dizzy, lost, and confused. His stomach lurched as another wave of the cold sweats drenched his back.

  Peter couldn’t believe it. His roommate, Anton, the one who had taken him into his home when he had no other place to go, the one whom he had known since he was in high school, was dead. He rested his arms on a bookshelf and leaned over, breathing heavily before he fainted from shock. He could hear Chip’s footsteps tip-toeing closer to him from behind. His hand carefully, steadily clamped down on Peter’s shoulder.

  “I’m here for you,” Chip said, in his low, calm tone. His breath was warm as it washed over his ear, and his touch was comforting.

  “I know, and … I’m sorry. I just … I just want to see him. I want to see my best friend … I mean, he wasn’t my best friend, but … how could he be gone, just like that? What ... what happened? Do you know?” Peter asked, turning back just to see if he could read Chip’s expression.

  He felt so helpless. This all seemed like a nightmare, a bad dream. This sort of thing happened to other people, not to him. When Chip had first told him, he'd thought it was all a really bad joke: but deep down, he knew it was true.

  He knew Chip wanted to protect him, not to upset him; but he really just needed to know the truth this time, and all of it. He didn't need it white-washed or sugar-coated. He had to see for himself.

  “Peter, Anton was … someone shot him to death. Left him out in the middle of the desert. Had it not been for the hikers who happened to ...” Chip couldn’t finish as Peter was sobbing too hard, his body convulsing. Peter just needed him to hold him, to be there with him, to let him know he wasn’t alone.

  Peter sucked up his tears, wiping his face with the back of his sleeves. His tear-soaked eyes looked into Chip’s as he pulled back enough to look the other man in the face.

  “We’ve got to find out who did this. Why? Why would they do this? Why him?” Peter said, demanding to know. Peter and Anton may have had their share of troubles, but Peter couldn't imagine anyone hating him enough to do this. Sure, Anton could be annoying , but not so annoying that someone should want him dead.

  “I ... I don’t know, Peter. But I promise you, I know some people in homicide, and I’ll make sure they make this a priority. Should you ... maybe call his family?”

  “No, his ... he was alone. It was just him. His family all died years ago.” And that somehow made it worse: that there was no one, save him, to mourn Anton.

  “Okay,” Chip said, taking a deep breath, “I want you to stay with me tonight. At my place.”

  “No, I ... there’s so much I need to ...”

  “That is not an option,” Chip said, cutting him off and stepping closer to him, his body heat consuming Peter like a warm blanket. “You hear me? I’ve already called your principal and told him you’ll be taking a few days off.”

  “What? But I ...” Peter sputtered.

  “Shh,” Chip said firmly, as if he had everything under control.

  Peter nodded as Chip pulled him closer into an embrace, pulling his head onto his chest.

  “Everything’s going to be all right. You hear me? I’ve got you,” Chip said.

  Peter wanted to believe that was true. He pressed his nose into the crook of Chip's neck and deeply inhaled the scent of his skin and cologne. It was a spicy, woodsy scent that went well with the natural odor of Chip's body. He felt like he was home again, and that he was safe in Chip's embrace. It was all he ever wanted, and although he didn't know how, he feared that this, Anton's murder, would somehow tear it all apart.

  ***

  With no family, Peter knew it was his responsibility to make all the funeral arrangements for Anton. He didn’t have a lot of money. Peter just had what he’d made from his massage client, Hashimoto. He used most of this on Anton. It was really the least he could do for his sometimes friend. After all, without Anton, he'd be living on the streets.

  Although it didn't help much, Anton’s funeral insurance covered a few things. With Chip’s assistance, they were able to scrape together a decent service and burial. Peter just felt numb for days, but he knew that somehow, he had to pull it together, because soon, he’d have to go back to work. He really needed his head together. These kids he taught had serious problems of their own at home. He wasn’t about to drag his own personal shit into their lives. They relied on him to be their motivator and their moral compass. Moral compass? Peter knew that was a joke, as every day, he felt what little morality he had was being eaten away like thousands of tiny piranhas who were tearing away at his soul. The things he thought were right and wrong, good and bad, were no longer black and white. They were becoming grey, and soon he knew they’d become indistinguishable. This was not the life he wanted to design for himself at this age. His only saving grace was Chip. Without him and his support, he wouldn't be able to pull through this: and he knew that for sure. Without Chip, the grey would close over his head and wash him away. Chip was his rock. Chip was his salvation.

  He leaned back on Chip’s couch and tried to turn his head off as he allowed his mind to drift into the boob tube. He usually didn't watch a lot of TV, but he'd do anything at this point to take his mind off what was going on. Off Anton. Off Tony. Especially off the things he'd done. But there was nothing really good on TV: just old re-runs of Jerry Springer and other mindless television. It didn’t really matter, because he wasn’t really watching it anyway: he just needed something else to think about. His phone beeped with a message, and his eyes drifted over to it.

  It was Tony.

  Immediately, his stomach went cold and a lump formed in his throat. He wasn't in the mood for Tony and his posturing. He didn't want to talk to him. It shattered the illusion that everything was perfect with Chip.

  What did he want? Funny, he hadn’t heard from him in days. In fact, not since he’d gotten the horrible news. He figured he'd better call him back or he’d never hear the end of it, and the last thing he needed was more drama in his life.

  “Hey,” Peter answered, not bothering to try and sound pleased this time.

  “How you doing?” Tony asked, his gravel voice thick with some emotion. He almost sounded grave.

  “I’m ... I’m all right,” Peter answered flatly. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't muster anything more. He wasn't all right, but he didn't want Tony to know that. He didn't want to talk to Tony about Anton.

  “You sure about that?” Tony asked. “I heard about your … friend.”

  “How?” Peter asked, feeling another chill run over his skin. Had he listened
in on his cell phone conversation while Peter was making funeral arrangements? Ever since he and Chip had figured out that Tony had bugged his house and his cell phone, Peter had been especially careful about what he said aloud. He guessed it didn’t matter. And though he wanted to scream at Tony for the invasion of his privacy, he trusted Chip when he said to act like everything was normal. It was just really difficult right now. He was raw from Anton's death and he wanted to rage, to scream at Tony.

  “This is a small town,” Tony answered, hesitating at first. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Maybe it was because he was hurting, but Peter thought Tony sounded forced.

  “Yeah, well, I appreciate that, Tony. Thank you.” Peter sighed. He didn't know if he appreciated it or not. But if that was all he was calling about, he supposed it was a nice enough gesture.

  “Are you up for another client?” Tony asked, sounding chipper; a little too chipper for Peter’s tastes. All the good will he thought Tony had just displayed flew out the window. THAT was the real reason he called, not to tell him he was sorry his friend died.

  “Um …” Peter sighed. He knew he was going to need the money, especially with Anton’s loss. Erotic massage or not, he needed the money, and as long as he kept the whole thing a secret, especially from the school at which he worked, he could justify it. He didn't feel up for it, but then maybe he didn't really have a choice. There were still bills to pay.

  “Sure. Yeah,” he told Tony. He had to force the words out, but somehow, he managed.

  “Good. This client is a rather large shark, a whale actually. Make him happy and he’ll make you happy.”

  “When?” Peter asked, wanting the conversation to end as soon as possible. It took so much effort to even speak. He felt so numb.

  “Be here in an hour,” Tony said, hanging up before Peter could respond.

  ***

  Since Peter couldn't get him on the phone, he left a note for Chip, telling him that he’d be back for dinner. An hour wasn't a lot of time, so he rushed to get dressed, and then raced to make it to the casino with only ten minutes to spare. The lobby of the casino was bustling with tourists in their Hawaiian shirts and polyester pants. The carpet was a wild, vibrant pattern across which the flickering lights slid. He could hear the slot machines, jangling and ringing, and the din of chatter and cheering, laughing and hooping. There were women in slinky, spangled corsets and netted stockings, carrying drinks on trays. For a moment, Peter wished he could be carefree like the people here, having fun and enjoying himself.

  He called Tony from the casino lobby. He told Peter to meet him at the penthouse suite. He’d never been up there before, but he’d heard that it was nice, really nice. There was a private elevator that could only be accessed by fingerprint, and since Tony had Peter registered in the casino, it allowed him inside.

  Even the elevator was different. Tony’s casino was no Bellagio, but it was pretty classy overall. The elevator was mirrored, and there wasn't a fingerprint on the surface. The lighting was soft and rich, and had a nice golden glow. The floor was tiled marble, and inside, it smelled like rich cologne. Tony's cologne, Peter thought, with a rush of heat to his face. Even the buttons were nice: the numbers not faded at all. He punched the PENTHOUSE button and waited as it smoothly rose to the top of the casino.

  The door dinged as it opened, revealing a private lobby that lead to the grand door. The lobby was dimly lit and it had a plush carpet on the floor. There were green, glossy-leafed tropical plants in marble pots lining the walkway, and he also noted the fine art on the walls. Peter squinted. The paintings were real, not prints. At the end of the richly-appointed hall was a dark, cherry wood door with a golden knob. Peter knocked on the hollow sounding door and waited. There was no sound, so he rang the doorbell, and a voice, a familiar voice, said, “Come on in.”

  Who was that? Peter wondered, as the door buzzed open. Peter stepped inside and immediately admired the marble design and three-story structure. It was quite simply striking. There was a huge panoramic window that showed the Vegas skyline twinkling with a million lights. It was like looking up at a gorgeous night sky smattered with stars. The living room area was all white: the carpets, the walls, and even the modern furniture. On the wall above a cheery fireplace was a flat-screen HD television. Peter looked up a marble spiral staircase that led up to two other floors. There was a lounge area upstairs and a bedroom. All of them were beautifully and richly decorated.

  There was a gourmet kitchen off the living room, and the counters were a veined, black marble. Stainless steel appliances glimmered in the dim light. There was a wine bar, and he could see that it was fully stocked. On the counter was a bowl of delicious looking tropical fruit. Just to the left of the kitchen, Peter could see the bathroom. It was huge. There were floor-to-ceiling bathrooms, and the whole thing was white marble. There was a huge Jacuzzi tub with stairs leading up to it, and the whole room was lit by soft candlelight.

  He'd never been in such a beautiful place. It made his apartment look like a real dump. He wanted to sink into the leather furniture or to go upstairs and flop down on what he was sure was a feather bed. He didn't feel like taking a client: he wanted to treat himself. Peter sighed, and put aside his fantasies. There was work to be done.

  “To your right,” the voice said, and Peter shuffled his way inside, leading to the living room where the massage table and candles were set up. It was another large, expensive massage table. Strewn about on the floor and a table beside it were oils, candles, and an MP3 player that pumped out soft, sensual music. But what he saw next put him in shock.

  “What are you doing here?” Peter asked, conjuring up a smile he didn't know he was capable of making, at Tony, who was wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

  He was sitting on a couch, reading a newspaper, with his legs crossed, relaxed. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and looked at Peter in his intense, sexy manner. His eyes smoldered, devouring Peter's body, sliding up from his toes to the crown of his head. Peter could see his hefty ball sack and thick cock dangling between his legs: a cock with which he’d become all too familiar lately. Tony wasn't a modest fellow and he spread his legs a little wider, likely noticing Peter's admiring gaze.

  Peter flushed hotly, then cleared his throat and looked away from the delicious sight. He had to keep control. He couldn't give in to temptation, not after all the things Tony had done. Even so, he felt drawn to the man. He could smell him, smell his musk and cologne. He wanted him immediately: at least his body did. His heart firmly remained Chip's.

  “I took a few days off,” Tony said with a shrug.

  “But why are you here?” Peter asked again, brow crinkling. He tried not to sound agitated, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't in the mood for games.

  “What do you mean, why am I here? I live here. The casino provides me a second home inside. One of the perks of the job.” Tony answered, rising. His tall frame walked calmly, confidently, masculinely toward Peter in the way he knew turned Peter on like no one’s business.

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” Peter said, swallowing dryly. Tony always had a way of making him nervous. His palms were already coated with sweat and his heart raced. “Where’s the client?”

  Tony chuckled, shaking his head, “For a smart guy, you’re not that bright. What do you mean, who’s the client? It’s me. You get to do me.” He hooked his thumbs in the cuff of his robe, arching a brow at Peter, exuding confidence and arrogant swagger.

  “You’re funny,” Peter said, hiding his irritation. He felt it boil up under his skin. He wanted to turn around and leave. Go back home. Go back to Chip. The only thing that kept him rooted there was that he promised Chip he'd pretend like everything was normal while they figured things out. It was increasingly difficult to do so; at least, that's what he told himself.

  “You’ll get paid just like you normally would, with a generous tip,” Tony said, getting even closer. “I just thought you might need a little extra cash after your friend … Well, anyway, next wee
k, we have several clients lined up for you, but in the meantime ...” He said it all so casually, as though it were no big deal at all. Peter knew what he was expecting. It wouldn't be just a massage.

  “I can’t ...” Peter heard himself say. He wanted to kick himself. He had just blurted it out from his mouth.

  The smile from Tony’s face faded. “Why not?”

  “‘Cause …” Peter tried to think of a quick excuse that would be acceptable to Tony. The truth was that he promised Chip he’d find a way to get out of doing erotic massages, but that wouldn’t cut it with Tony. “I …” Peter stammered, not sure what to say to get Tony off his back.

  “Petey, Petey, Petey, enough of the excuses, okay? What? Are you afraid of me?” Tony asked, his sexy smile returning as though it never left his lips. He moved close enough to kiss. His breath was warm and minty as it washed over Peter's face.

  “No,” Peter squeaked, shrinking back.

  “You should be,” Tony said, his beautiful brown eyes twinkling. His voice was low, full of menace and desire all at once. Again, warmth flooded his face and his breath quickened. He wanted him, he realized. It made him feel so guilty.

  Peter swallowed. “Why?” He started to tremble. Was he afraid of Tony? Fear and lust made it difficult to think straight. His head swam, and he drew in a sharp breath to clear his thoughts. It didn't work.

  “Well,” Tony began, placing his hands on Peter’s shoulders, his grip too firm, “I don’t like to repeat myself. You know, it’s just not … what I’m accustomed to. For example, when I tell you to stay away from … certain individuals, especially those who work in law enforcement such as Detective Chip-aroo there, I mean it. You know, I’m not joking when I say that I will break both of his legs, and he will never be able to walk again.” His voice went from smooth and sensual to ice cold. Peter froze.

  Tony tapped the end of Peter’s nose as Peter flinched. That one playful gesture scared him more than anything. He couldn't stop trembling.